From The Personal Blog of Dr John H Watson
by ivory-sword
Summary: In a truly heroic attempt to be at least 1% as clever as Sherlock Holmes, I give you a mystery based on the television show and the fictional blog of John Watson. There is action, there is mystery, there is a subtle hint of romance not S/J . Enjoy.
1. Entry One

* Disclaimer: I do not claim to be even half as clever as Mr. Sherlock Holmes or Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and so I ask that you do not judge me too hard on how clever my mystery is or how realistic the crime. (I admit, he often leaves me quite baffled) I do not live in London and have never visited there and have not had the chance to witness a murder or be questioned by Scotland Yard about a jewelry theft, but I do enjoy watching mysteries and reading crime novels and therefore endeavour to put on my thinking cap and spin a captivating tale. I do hope you enjoy. *

* By the way, if you've never read the fictional blog of John Watson, I highly recommend it: http: /www. johnwatsonblog .co .uk / *

**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

20th March

**The Phantom**

This has been another one of those cases that leaves me wondering whether or not there is some shred of humanity within Sherlock Holmes. Some small, tiny bit of normal human behaviour. The last time this happened was during the case involving one Irene Adler. This time instead of coming in the form of a professional –ahem– shall we say, _companion_, this new woman came in the form of a jewel thief. I'll never understand it.

I'll start from the beginning and maybe this will make more sense by the end. Stefan Owens arrived at 221B Baker Street two days ago looking for help in solving a mysterious thread of jewelry thefts. He had not yet been robbed but was concerned for the welfare of certain valuable pieces in his mansion. He was hosting a dinner party the next night and was hoping that both Sherlock and myself would attend it in an attempt to thwart the Phantom from striking again. At first Sherlock wasn't interested. He was his usual self, cutting off Mr. Owens to add, rather needlessly, that the case didn't interest him. He wasn't interested in petty robberies or jewel thieves. The money Mr. Owens offered him was of no interest. By this time he was pacing back and forth like he normally does when I've hidden his nicotine patches. It was what Mr. Owens next said that caught his interest. We'd all read about the Phantom in the papers. The phantom cat burglar who strikes the richest of London leaving behind no evidence only an empty safe. There had been seven robberies in the last three weeks and no one was any wiser as to who the thief was. The police were baffled. The part the papers had left out that Mr. Owens enlightened us on was that the jewelry had all been stolen _during_ dinner parties when all the guests had been located in the same room. All of the thefts had taken place in the lounge or sitting room when all of the guests had been present. No one had seen anything. In each case, the jewelry owner had checked the safe before the party to find the jewels untouched but had found them missing right after the party. Obviously it was one of the guests, but who?

Something about the Phantom thief caught Sherlock's attention and he abruptly took the case. I could tell Mr. Owens was a bit taken aback, but then again he'd never met Sherlock before. The dinner party was to take place the next evening at 6:00 sharp. Wear ties. This, of course, presented a problem since Sherlock refuses to wear ties. The next hour resulted in a decidedly childish verbal argument between the two of us in which I ended up very angry and my spare tie ended up out the front window. Sometimes he can be so childish, I wonder at how he commands the respect of Scotland Yard. I guess we all just have to deal with his eccentrics since he's good at what he does.

The next evening was the dinner party. We arrived by taxi to find that the mansion was quite substantial and the guest list expansive. I could see Sherlock's eyes flittering about, figuring out every detail of every single guest's life. Who was married, who was divorced, who was having an affair, who was having an affair with the cook's husband…. And so on. I'll spare you the details. At dinner, Sherlock didn't touch any of the food. He just sat, tieless, watching each guest. By the end of dinner he practically knew all their life stories. And when I say practically, I mean he could tell them more about themselves than they even knew. After dinner we retired to the lounge where the safe was located. While Sherlock was watching the guests, I kept my eyes on the painting that sat in front of the safe. Nothing. None of the guests looked at the painting. No one even came near it. A couple of guests left to use the loo – don't ask me which, ask Sherlock – but that was it. Mr. Owens called everyone to attention ten minutes before eight. He told them all about the Phantom and said that he was going to check the safe to see if the jewelry thief had been present. He informed us that he had checked the safe to see that the jewels were still there just before the guests had been ushered into the lounge. I could tell that some of the guests were nervous and others excited. Some probably thought it was some sort of play. After removing the painting and pressing in the key pad code, Owens opened the safe. It was empty. There were startled gasps from the guests and Mrs. Owens nearly fainted. I was completely baffled, but Sherlock had that look on his face, the one he gets when he understands something and no one else does. The one that drives me mad.

Anyway, Sherlock was already analyzing every minute detail of the room while I was left to interview the guests… **Read More**

**11 comments**

I just realised how much this sounds like Clue or a Ms. Marple mystery. Let's just hope it wasn't the butler.

**John Watson** 20 March 11:23

Really, John, the butler has a wooden leg and is having an affair with the scullery maid, do you really think he could be the Phantom?

**Sherlock Holmes** 20 March 11:25

And what is this? A monologue about your personal opinions of my behavior?

**Sherlock** **Holmes **20 March 11:26

you should never trust a thief. especially the phantom.

**Anonymous** 20 March 11:35

Why does he hate ties? I'm sure he'd look quite sexy in one.

**motnahp** 20 March 12:12

that is a stupid thing to ask sherlock holmes.

**Anonymous** 20 March 12:13

Connie Prince's show was stupid, but people still watched it.

**motnahp** 20 March 12:14

touché.

**Anonymous** 20 March 12:15

I always liked Connie Prince's show. She always had the greatest tips on how to do your colours.

**Marie Turner **20 March 12:17

Oh, this is Mrs. Hudson by the way.

**Marie Turner** 20 March 12:18

Sounds like an interesting case. I'm sure Sherlock will catch his man… or woman.

**Mike Stamford** 20 March 12:50


	2. Owens Mansion, 7:35 pm

**Owen Mansion, 7:35 pm**

It was almost too easy. She wondered why her employer had paid her so much to burglarize these mansions. She was well known in the world of jewel thieves and cat burglars. She'd been only too happy when one of the big names in the underground world of London had approached her with a proposition. He would pay her richly if she were able to steal prized jewelry from eight different prominent families without getting caught. If she got caught then no money. She'd already made a name for herself – the Phantom. At least that was what the papers called her. She liked it. Very fitting since she stole the jewels right under people's noses. Tonight would be different though. She knew one Sherlock Holmes would be present. Tonight was the real challenge. She could see him now, watching the guests intently. His eyes had swept over her a few times already. She wondered what he saw. A plain girl, brown hair, bright blue eyes, brightly coloured dress. Had he already guessed she was American or that she was a student studying at Cambridge? Maybe he had even figured out that she was the notorious Phantom. She doubted it, but the thought thrilled her. She half wished he would guess it was her. How exciting that would be. She smiled slyly as his eyes rested on her for half a second. She wondered if he knew that she had already stolen the jewels before his very eyes. She was enjoying her little game with him.


	3. Owens Mansion, 8:05 pm

**Owen Mansion, 8:05 pm**

**John Watson**

Looking at the twenty some guests who had been invited to the Owens's dinner party, John Watson sighed, wishing, not for the first time that night, that he could just have a quiet night at home reading a book or watching the tellie. Of course spending the evening at 221B Baker Street usually meant finding decapitated heads in the freezer or fetching his flatmate's cell phone from the pocket of the shirt he was wearing because he was too busy thinking to be bothered getting it himself. Might as well be interviewing suspects.

After interviewing half of the guests, he hadn't learned anything of importance unless you counted opinions on the dinner and how it had been too salty or a portly old man's delusions about seeing a man in a gorilla mask outside the second story window. The guests were growing restless though Owens was doing everything he could to keep them calm. Mrs. Owens was still in a state.

He felt the sofa sink slightly as the next guest took her seat. A subtle scent of flowers filled the air at her presence. His first impression of her was that she was much too young to be at a boring dinner party let alone to be a jewel thief. She had a very young face with bright blue eyes and was wearing a bright yellow dress – not the sort you'd expect a cat burglar to be wearing.

"Right then, if I could just get your name." He flipped over the pad of paper he had been writing on to start a fresh page.

"Elizabeth Reynolds."

"You're American," he noted as she spoke.

"Yes, I'm studying English at Cambridge."

"And how do you know the Owens?"

"Oh, their daughter, Cecilia? We're friends at the college. She couldn't make it at the last minute, but I already said I'd come, and I like her parents. They're a little wary of Americans though, so I wanted to make a good impression." She made a face. "I kind of wish I'd stayed home. Although a burglary certainly does add a little excitement to the night."

"Did you see anything unusual at all?" John asked, tapping his pen against the paper pad.

She paused for a moment, looking off into the distance to think. "No, I don't think so. Of course I wasn't expecting anything to happen, so I wasn't looking for anything. I didn't even know Mr. Owens kept his safe in here. It seems an odd place for it, don't you think? It seems like the library or the study would be a better place for a safe."

"Yeah, maybe. Well, thank you for your time." He sighed. This was going nowhere.

"No problem." She stood to leave and the next guest took her place.

"Right, your name?"


	4. Owens Mansion, 8:25 pm

**Owens Mansion, 8:25 pm**

**Sherlock Holmes**

How exceedingly dull the evening had started out. Listening to the drabble at dinner had been the same slow torture as listening to John talk about rugby scores or the weather forecast. It was ordinary. It was boring. But now, now he had something for his mind to focus on. Everything around him was suddenly a potential clue. The Phantom was in the room at that moment. He scanned the faces around him. Overweight couple, obviously having relationship problems. He'd been drinking and she'd been flustered when getting ready for the dinner party. His hands were notably shaking and he was already starting in on his third glass of sherry of the night. Her earrings were mismatched and she had missed a button on her silk blouse. The butler serving drinks had served in a war. Probably Vietnam. He was 57, possibly 58 and walked with a distinct limp, not psychosomatic like John but because of his leg replacement. He was having an affair with the scullery maid. Owens had called his staff up to be interrogated as well, and the butler kept glancing at the maid. She wore a wedding ring, he did not. The mediocrity of the guests was dulling his mind. They were all the same really. Sad little people caught up in the dull problems of normal life. If only one of them were clever. One of them had to be. One of them was the Phantom. His eyes focused in on the only person it could be.

"I've talked to everyone now." John came up behind him, interrupting his thoughts.

"Good. Any impressions?" He already knew that John had fallen for the Phantom's act of innocence.

"Well, the old man who thought he saw a man dressed like a gorilla in the window could be onto something, but otherwise, no."

"Tell me, John, who stands out in this group? Who doesn't fit with the others?"

"Besides you, you mean?" Sherlock threw him an exasperated look. "Right, well, the American girl, I suppose. But just because she's American doesn't mean she's a jewel thief."

"No, but she doesn't fit in here. Look at her dress – bright yellow. She wanted to stand out in the crowd."

"Wouldn't the Phantom want to blend in?"

"Reverse psychology, John. She's hidden in plain sight."

"But she can't be more than twenty. There's no way she's the Phantom. Anyway, have you got any proof? What did you find?"

"The Phantom is very clever. The jewels weren't stolen tonight."

"What?" John's face held the familiar expression of utter confusion. Sherlock had learned to be patient with him though he couldn't resist letting out a sigh.

"The jewels stolen tonight were a fake. The real necklace was stolen before the party even started."

"Why would someone steal fake jewels? How did they even get in the safe?"

"Ah, that was the very clever part of it. The safe can only be opened by activating the lock with a secret code that only Mr. and Mrs. Owens are privy to. Of course a code can be easy enough to figure out. The Phantom broke into the safe and replaced the real necklace with a fake – an exact replica. They knew that the necklace would be glanced at but not studied closely when the Owens checked before the party to make sure it was there. The Phantom is notorious for stealing the jewelry during a party when everyone is in the room and yet no one ever notices anything. The Phantom sets up everything before the party. That way she can simply remove the fake jewels and the burglary will be discovered after the party."

"Well, hold on. How does the Phantom get the jewels out of the safe? I think someone would notice if she just broke into the safe during the party."

"Haven't you been listening, John, she sets up everything beforehand. Here, look at this." He strode over to the wall where the safe was. It was a very insecure place for a safe, placed in a thick column of wall that stood in the middle of the room, segueing the lounge into two sections. He pointed to the painting on the opposite side of the safe. "See how the painting juts out from the wall about an inch? Someone moved it forward on purpose." He took the painting off of the nail and set it against the wall. "Look here, there's a hole in the wall just wide enough to slide the necklace through."

"So the Phantom drilled a hole in the wall and into the safe and no one noticed?"

"People don't see what they don't expect to see, John."

"But I still don't get how she got the jewels out of the safe. I'd still be obvious if she were trying to squeeze her hand in a hole in the wall that just happened to be right behind the safe."

"No, don't you see? When she replaced the necklace with the fake, she tied a thin, clear fishing line to the back of it and threaded it through the back of the safe and out the hole. That way she could casually tug on the line and the necklace would pull loose. It was daring. She could have been caught, but that's all part of it. Don't you see? It's all a game to her."

"And that's why she put on the theatrics of placing the fake? So she could pretend to pull off the robbery in plain sight of everyone?"

"Yes. It's quite clever."

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"She knew I would be here tonight. She thought she could outwit me."

"Well, I still don't see any evidence to back any of this. You can't pin it on anyone."

"Do you notice anything missing from the room?" Sherlock asked, watching as John scanned the room.

"Hang on… Where did the American go? Elizabeth Reynolds she said her name was."

"She went to retrieve the fake necklace which she dropped from the bathroom window into the flowerbeds below. The old man who saw the face in the window saw _something_. It was the necklace falling. He forgot his glasses and has the early stages of dementia, but he did see something."

"So are we going to let her get away then or are we going after her?"


	5. Owens Mansion, 8:40 pm

**Owens Mansion, 8:40 pm**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

It had all been too easy. He had fallen for the trap, just as James Moriarty had said. Elizabeth had slipped out of the lounge without anyone noticing, making her way down to the driveway in front of the mansion, her high heels crunching on the gravel. She knelt down next to the shrubbery that ran up alongside the mansion, her fingers running over the soft soil until they grasped a stone. She stood, the necklace grasped in her hand. It was a beautiful piece; a thick silver chain with a large piece of topaz framed by silver and inlaid with tiny diamonds. She had seen Mrs. Owens wear it on multiple occasions. A nasty woman. Elizabeth had quite enjoyed the look on her face when she realised her precious necklace was gone. The best part of being the Phantom was getting to see the look on people's faces when they realized their jewels were gone. Normally she wouldn't be so spiteful, but the sight of such blatantly undisguised wealth made her sick. She had seen far too many of the homeless in the backstreets of London to moved by these overindulging bureaucrats. She fancied herself a sort of modern-day Robin Hood, stealing from the rich and giving to…. Well, maybe she didn't give to the poor, but she didn't want to risk her identity as the Phantom.

"Enjoying yourself? That is a nice piece, even for a fake." Elizabeth jumped as a voice came out of nowhere. Out of the shadows stepped Sherlock Holmes, his face set with a smug smile. She turned to run, but hands grabbed her, pulling her out into the moonlight. "I believe you've already met my colleague, Dr. Watson. But I have not had the pleasure."

"Oh, but I know all about you, Sherlock Holmes. You've inspired me in many ways." Elizabeth smiled up at him. "I've read all about you. In the papers, on Dr. Watson's blog, on your own website. I didn't expect you to be so young, I must admit."

"I'll admit, your youth threw me off at first, but criminals can start at any age."

"I'm not just a criminal, you know. I'm not in it for the money." She needed him to understand. This wasn't about stealing jewels.

"No, then what?" His eyes were narrowed, but Elizabeth could see them studying her, picking up on every detail.

"The same reason you do what you do – for the fun of it, the excitement, the challenge. Anything to escape the monotony of everyday life. But I've done what I set out to do. I proved that I could be clever enough to make a name for myself. This was my last theft." She watched his eyes narrow further until they were nothing more than shining blue slits. "You don't believe me? Here." She held out the necklace to him. "Take it. You can stride back inside and turn me in. Show this to them and explain the whole thing. But then you won't ever know what I've done with the real jewel. I'll have outsmarted Sherlock Holmes."

"Is that your game here? It was very clever, the way you chose your thefts. King, Hall, Richardson, Edwards, Lewis, Sheffield, Clarke, and Owens. The first letter of each last name spell out Sherlock. The papers didn't mention the families who had been robbed, but Owens mentioned them when he came to me with his case. I realized then that it was a message to me. Come and find me. See if you can outsmart me."

Elizabeth smiled smugly. "Well, have you then? Can you prove that I stole the jewels? I told you, I'm done with life as the Phantom. This is it. If you can't prove it, I'll just walk away free."

"Why? Why stop now?"

"It was fun while it lasted, but I realised there are safer ways of having fun. It was a challenge – see if I could rob eight houses within a month and not get caught, even when I was robbing the last one right under your nose. Now the choice is up to you. You can turn me in or let me go. It all depends on whether or not you want to know where I hid the real jewels."

A smile had grown on his face. "I deduce things. I don't play guessing games."

"Ah, but it is a game of deduction. I'll give you everything you need to know. You just need to come with me."


	6. Entry Two

**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

20th March

**The Phantom**

And so that is how I found myself strapped into the backseat of an expensive Audi with a notorious jewel thief at the wheel. Sherlock was in his element. I didn't bother to even ask why he was playing this game with the Phantom a.k.a. Elizabeth Reynolds. The night just kept getting stranger. Then again, that's a typical night as Sherlock Holmes's friend. And of course instead of letting everyone know – namely the Owenses – that he was leaving, he took off without a backward glance. Some might consider that rude. Not Sherlock Holmes.

Elizabeth pulled onto Holland Park Avenue and stopped in front of a nice looking apartment. Sherlock had been quiet the entire drive, his eyes flicking back and forth as usual, not missing a thing. The apartment itself was very nice – studio apartment fit for one person. I was surprised, however, to find how sparingly the apartment had been decorated. Nothing looked expensive. Nice, but not spendy. Elizabeth went to change out of her evening dress and returned in jeans and a T-shirt that made me question whether or not we had caught the right person. She looked like a teenager, not a cat burglar. She offered us tea – imagine! Tea with a notorious cat burglar. How far my life has strayed from normalcy. After serving tea, Elizabeth turned to Sherlock. I could see her eyes sparkling as the game to see who was more clever began. Sherlock seemed unmoved so far though I couldn't begin where to guess where the necklace had been hidden.

Elizabeth asked Sherlock to tell her what he had observed. She'd heard he was notorious for being able to know a person's life story just by glancing at them. I could tell by her smirk that she was enjoying this. Whatever drives people to enjoy having their life story told to them by an arrogant, insensitive detective eludes me. Oddly enough, the Phantom did not seem offended by any of Sherlock's observations. On the contrary, she smiled sweetly at him and took it without blinking. I'll try to transcribe Sherlock's observations word for word. I usually get lost halfway through. How he notices all this, I'll never know.

"You've only just let this apartment, but you've been in London for two, no three years. You're a student of English studying at Cambridge, though I question whether or not this is just a front. You most likely suffer from an obsessive compulsive disorder and though you hide it well, you get nervous often. You're fascinated with the idea of freedom and imprisonment. You have no real friends and never entertain guests, but I suppose for a jewel thief this is ideal. You distance yourself from everyone and hardly know yourself anymore. You believe in ghosts which really doesn't suit your intellect, and you play the violin. Have done for quite some time."

Of course he spews this out at 70 kilometres per minute. Elizabeth doesn't even ask how he knows all this, so I take the bait. He gives me the usual "you really don't see it?" look and he's off again, explaining the tiny details I, of course, completely missed.

"The apartment smells of fresh paint, recently repainted. I noticed the name plate outside the apartment bearing your name has been recently replaced. But this can't be your first time in London. At the party you used decidedly British phrases and sometimes lose your American accent for a moment when pronouncing certain words. Your pile of school books indicate that you're studying English – no one else would have books on Indo-European roots or advanced grammar. The tag on them indicates they're from the Cambridge bookstore. You're very tidy, to the point of obsession. Not a speck of dust anywhere, everything in its place. The skin around your fingers has been picked at – a nervous habit. You don't like to show your weaknesses, and so you take your nerves out on yourself. Most of your décor has to do with birds and cages which reflect the idea of freedom and imprisonment. You're obsessed with the notion of playing the elusive thief. You only have one chair in your kitchen, so you obviously don't expect company. There are no pictures of friends around your apartment. Your apartment itself is very sparsely furnished and decorated. You don't leave many traces of yourself. You've become the Phantom. Your bookshelves are filled with nonsense on the supernatural and the name you have taken for yourself, "Phantom," reflects your belief in the paranormal. The nails on your left hand are slightly shorter than the ones on your right indicating that you play an instrument where your nails must be shorter on your playing hand. The way you hold the sugar spoon indicate years of practice at holding a bow gracefully. The way your fingers curve around it."

I can't say I would have thought of a single one of those things. Elizabeth just smiled and told him she was impressed.

"All frighteningly correct. But I really do go to university. I'm studying to get my masters in English. I already have a degree in it."

So what was this American student of English doing stealing jewels? Sherlock had that satisfied look on his face when he understands someone's motives. I was baffled as usual.

"I've given you everything you need to find where I've nestled Mrs. Owens's necklace," Elizabeth added afterwards. Her smile was just like Sherlock's when he knows he's been clever.

To me she'd given us absolutely nothing, but Sherlock was already on his feet, scanning the apartment… **Read more**

**8 comments**

Just because I see things other people don't doesn't make me arrogant. It makes me observant. I can't help that other people miss everything.

**Sherlock Holmes** 20 March 14:02

Well you make other people feel really stupid. Maybe you hadn't noticed.

**John Watson** 20 March 14:05

You're not going to go into another one of your rants about human emotion, are you?

**Sherlock Holmes** 20 March 14:06

No, I'd consider that a waste of time.

**John Watson** 20 March 14:07

good you figured out my message.

**Anonymous** 20 March 14:08

Are you two writing messages to each other when you're in the same room again?

**Mrs. Hudson** 20 March 14:10

Sometimes it's easier than trying to talk to him in person.

**John Watson** 20 March 14:12

i'd like to talk to him in person.

**Anonymous** 20 March 14:13


	7. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 9:05 pm

* Credit goes to Dictionary. com, the Online Etymological Dictionary, and Wikipedia for definitions.*

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 9:05 pm**

**Sherlock Holmes**

Elizabeth Reynolds was clever, he would give her that. His mind was reeling as he processed all the information she had given him. He scanned the apartment one more time, memorizing the details. White walls, built in bookshelves framing a small fireplace, bright, modern furniture, small bird statues perched on the surface of some of the furniture. A birdcage hung from a stand in the corner of a room, a brightly coloured finch flittering about the cage. A music stand sat neatly folded against a wall. He could see John from the corner of his eye, his face confused. Elizabeth looked smug, her blue eyes bright as she watched Sherlock. She casually twisted a long lock of her golden hair in her finger. She was confident that she had stumped him. _I've given you everything you need to find where I've nestled Mrs. Owens's necklace._ Everything was there, it just needed to be organised.

**phan·tom **/fant∂m/

Noun

1. A ghost or apparition.

2. A figment of the imagination.

_The Sun_

March 11th, 2012

London

_The Phantom Strikes Again_

Local families continue

to be robbed by the

notorious cat burglar

called the Phantom…

Topaz: Al2SiO4(F,OH)2

a silicate mineral of aluminium and fluorine

Birds

Kingdom: Animalia

Phylum: Chordata

Class: Aves

**nestle (v.)**

O.E. _nestlian_ "build a nest," from _nest_ (see _**nest**_). Figurative sense of "settle (oneself) comfortably, snuggle" is first recorded 1540s. Related: _Nestled_; _nestling_.

He clapped his hands together. "Of course. You couldn't resist, could you? Giving me a context clue. As a scholar of English you couldn't resist dangling the clue in front of me. It was an odd word you used, 'nestle.' You 'nestled' the necklace, not 'hid' it away. Nestle relating to the word nest – birds! You've hidden the necklace in the nest." He strode over to the birdcage holding the bright finch, carefully reaching a hand in and plucking out the wicker nest. Inside was a silky handkerchief. He pulled it out and unwrapped it to reveal a shining topaz necklace. The look on Elizabeth's face was a mixture of admiration and fear, her lips slightly parted and her hands unconsciously clenched around her teacup.

"You weren't supposed to figure it out so quickly," she said simply. "I knew you were clever, but you figured that out in thirty seconds flat. Well then…." she stood, making a slow circle around Sherlock. He tightened his grip on the necklace. "Don't worry, I'm not going to grab the necklace and make a run for it. Even if I did, you'd probably catch me before I even made it down the stairs."

"You don't seem all that upset that I caught you even though you clearly can't match my intellect. You're just a common thief." He watched her as she paused in front of him, her eyes narrowed in thought.

"If I were a common thief would I have played this game with you?"

"You're not the first criminal to play games with me."

"Well then, I guess you'll have to turn me in now that you have the necklace. I can see the headlines: Sherlock Holmes does it again. Notorious cat burglar caught. The Phantom behind bars."

He didn't trust her smile. No criminal wanted to end up behind bars. Instead of looking frightened, she smiled dazzlingly at him, those blue eyes lit up with intelligence. His phone beeped from inside his coat pocket from where it lay across the arm of the sofa, indicating that he had received a text message. He retrieved it, glancing at the screen.

_The game isn't over._

_JM_

" Come on, John." He grabbed his coat, thrusting the necklace into one pocket and his phone into the other.

"Wait, what?"

"We're done here."

"I don't follow. Aren't you going to nab her? Sorry-" He looked over at Elizabeth who shrugged. "I don't understand."

Sherlock was already out the door, John hurrying after him with a backward glace at Elizabeth. "What was that all about?" John asked again after Sherlock had flagged a cab and they were driving toward Baker Street.

"There's more to it, John. It was too easy."

"Well, we have the necklace. Isn't that enough? How do you know she won't do a runner tonight?"

"She won't."

"And why not? I would if I were a cat burglar about to be caught."

"She _wanted_ to get caught, don't you see, John? She was enjoying it all. This was her last burglary because she _knew_ I would catch her. But that can't be all."

"That text you got. Who was it from?"

"An old friend of ours."

"You don't mean…? Great. Do you think he has something to do with the Phantom."

"Perhaps. I don't think she knows what she got herself into."

"Yeah, probably not. So what next?"

"We wait."

"What about Owens?"

"I'll call him and tell him the case is pending." He had his motives for not turning Elizabeth over to Scotland Yard right away. There were greater motives at work here than just proving that the Phantom was clever and until he figured them out, the Phantom would remain free because free she would lead him back to the nest, back to the start of things, just like a homing pigeon. And he knew exactly where she would lead him.


	8. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:06 pm

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:06 pm**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

Elizabeth smiled to herself as she got ready for bed. She pulled a brush through her long curls before sweeping them into a bun at the base of her neck. Her blue eyes shone brightly back at her as she gazed into the mirror. The replica of the topaz necklace hung from her neck, framed perfectly by her golden locks. Sherlock had left it with her, taking the real one with him. She supposed he would be back for it when he decided to turn her in. She knew the text he had received had something to do with why he hadn't turned her in tonight. As if in answer, her phone buzzed from her bed stand. She stooped to pick it up, sliding her finger over the keypad to brighten the screen.

_Your part in the game is almost over._

_IMOAIRMNYCGOOFU_

_JM_

Elizabeth felt a prickling of foreboding as she stared at the text. Obviously it was some sort of code, but she never had been good at deciphering such things. On a whim, she pulled out her laptop, quickly typing 'Sherlock' into the web browser. His website titled 'The Science of Deduction' popped up on her screen. She clicked the section on hidden messages. She'd attempted to decipher the messages he had posted numerous times to no avail, but she wondered if one of them would help her with the text. She scrolled through the messages looking for something similar to the message she had received. One of them jumped out at her. The Grid Cipher. She'd never heard of it before so she typed it into the web browser.

_Grid Cipher: Take the amount of letters in your hidden message and divide the number you come up with into two factors. From there take the letters from your message and write them left to right, top to bottom. For example, if there are 25 letters in your message, make a 5x5 grid. Write out the first five letters in your message from left to write then start a new row using the next five letters until all of your letters are written out. The message reads down from top to bottom, left to right. _

Elizabeth took out a piece of paper and scrawled out notes as she read.

_15 letters_

_5x3_

_I M O _

_A I R_

_M N Y_

_C G O _

_O F U_

_I am coming for you._

The pen slipped from Elizabeth's grip.

_Your part in the game is almost over._

_I AM COMING FOR YOU_

_JM_


	9. 221B Baker Street, 10:35 pm

**221B Baker Street, 10:35 pm**

**Sherlock Holmes**

The firelight cast shadows across the room though the flames were dying. Sherlock had been sitting on the sofa since he and John had returned to the apartment over an hour before. John had retired to his room saying something about the day's events making him tired. Sherlock supposed normal people got tired. His fingertips rested over his lips, his palms flat against each other. Next to him, his phone buzzed, the screen lighting up to show that he had one new text message. He didn't recognize the number. Clicking the enter button, he opened the message.

_Please help, he's coming after me._

_E._

He supposed she must have nicked his phone while he was searching her apartment and gotten his number. He typed out a quick reply.

_Who is coming after you?_

_SH_

He knew who it was, but he wanted to see Elizabeth type it out. He waited, but there was no reply. He wondered if she had just been fooling with him. Unlikely though. She didn't seem the type to joke about being in danger. After another minute, his phone lit up again, buzzing quietly against the leather couch.

_hes here_

The message was obviously typed out in haste. The mystery was beginning to unravel.


	10. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:20 pm

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:20 pm**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

Though she hated to admit it to herself, Elizabeth was shaken after the message. She was beginning to worry that her deal with Moriarty was going to turn around on her. There was a scraping against the window, and she jumped, letting out a quiet scream. She silently berated herself and walked over to the window, thrusting it open. A wind had picked up and the low-hanging branches of the oak tree were reaching out to scrape softly against the glass of the window. She shut it again, making sure it was locked. Turning back the covers of her bed, she climbed in, feeling slightly safer.

Ten minutes later she was fully dressed and standing in her living room. The lights wouldn't turn on and though the wind had picked up, it wasn't enough to bring down the electrical lines. Her phone had been buzzing on and off for the last ten minutes. It buzzed again, and the screen lit up showing the message. The blue glare hurt Elizabeth's eyes in the darkness of the apartment. It read:

_The Phantom is about to become a ghost._

Almost immediately, it buzzed again.

_I'm here._

Elizabeth found that her hands were shaking. She scrolled through her contacts, finding Sherlock's name and hitting 'send message.' She typed in a short message.

_Please help, he's coming after me._

_E._

After a second he replied.

_Who is coming after you?_

_SH_

She cursed as the door suddenly shuddered. All she could do was stand in the middle of her room, waiting for what was to come next. Then it burst open. She typed a hasty message to Sherlock, hoping something would come of it.

_hes here_

Rough hands grabbed her, covering her mouth. Elizabeth kicked out and there was a grunt. The hand over her mouth loosened, and Elizabeth struck out with her fist. There was another grunt of pain and then a handkerchief was shoved roughly over her nose. She tried to fight it off, but the sickeningly sweet scent that perfumed the handkerchief overwhelmed her, and she began to lose consciousness. Then everything went black.


	11. Unknown Location, 12:04 am

**Unknown Location, 12:04 am**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

Blinking blurrily, Elizabeth groaned. Her ears were buzzing unpleasantly and her tongue felt dry. She realized that she was lying on a hard cot. Her back was in agony. She sat up, her vision clearing. She was in a small, square cell with cement brick walls. There was a door with no window, but the cell was lit with a hazy fluorescent light. She stood and tried the door, unsurprised to find it locked. She sat back down on the bed, shivering. She reached into her pocket to see if her cell phone was still there. It wasn't. She lay back down, curling up in a ball and staring at the door.

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but she was awoken suddenly to the sound of the door creaking open. She had just enough time to bolt up, but two hands grabbed either arm and guided her out of the cell. She was led down a plain white hallway and into a white-washed room. The only object in the room was a wooden chair. She was shoved into the chair. One of the men pulled out a set of handcuffs, forcing her hands behind her back and handcuffing her to the chair. They left the room without comment.

"Well, how does it feel to be in handcuffs? Bet you didn't think the Phantom could ever get caught," a voice said from behind her.

"But that was the plan. You said to reel in Sherlock Holmes. I did that."

"_Yeees_, that's true. You did a good job of that. Clever robbing houses with names spelling out 'Sherlock.' He guessed that one right away. However, I do believe our arrangement was that you _outsmart_ Sherlock Holmes. I don't think he was outsmarted."

"You only know half of what happened then."

"Oh?" She could feel him right behind her now.

"He found the necklace, yes, but it wasn't the right one. I didn't replace the original with a fake. I hid the fake in the bird's nest and broke into the safe to place the fishing line and drill the hole, but I didn't remove the necklace. I stole the real necklace the night of the party, right under Sherlock Holmes's nose. He thought it was the fake when he caught me collecting it in the garden. I still have the real jewel."

"_Very_ good. You are quite the little thief."

"Then why am I handcuffed to a chair? I fulfilled my end of the bargain."

"Maybe. How long do you think it will take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that the necklace he has is a fake?"

"Well how long did you expect me to hold him at bay? I can only outsmart him for so long," she replied impatiently.

"Hmm…. I see…." Elizabeth didn't like the sound of his tone. It was light, joking almost. She felt her heartbeat increasing. Suddenly she felt way in over her head. This was not a man to make deals with. That was her first mistake. "But you see, I have a little problem – or rather, _you_ have a little problem. The Phantom has become _rather_ a notorious name in the streets. Everyone is fascinated with the cat burglar who steals right under everyone's noses. I'm not sure I can have that. You see, people might start to see you as the master criminal. You might start to undermine me."

"I told Sherlock, and I told you, I'm done with stealing jewels. I don't want that life anymore. Just let me go, and you'll never hear from me again."

Hands gripped the back of the chair. "Do you really think Sherlock Holmes will let you just walk away with the real jewels? Do you really think he'll leave a case unsolved?"

"I'll give him the necklace; I don't care."

"Not part of the deal."

"Well then what do you want from me?"

"I want to make a bargain. Just a simple bargain. All we need is Sherlock Holmes himself. You see, this is a test for him."

"What sort of test?" Elizabeth bit back her fear.

"Oh, just a little test to see whether or not I place a gun to your head. Turn the Phantom into a ghost. Let's give your little friend Sherlock a call." He stepped into view, holding Elizabeth's cell phone. Elizabeth surveyed James Moriarty, watching as he pressed the call button on the phone.

"The game is almost up, Sherlock. Time to come play. I've got your little girlfriend. She's waiting for you to rescue her. Why don't you join us?"


	12. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 7:30 am

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 7:30 am**

**Sherlock Holmes**

"I'm still not quite sure why you dragged me out of bed to come all the way over here again," John said, stifling a yawn. "I hardly got any sleep last night."

"Sleep is boring, John." Sherlock threw him a glance as the taxi turned onto Holland Park Avenue.

"Well, even so, what are we doing here?" John inquired.

"Trailing a pigeon."

"Sorry, what?"

"Last night Elizabeth Reynolds was kidnapped by Moriarty's men. We need to see if there's any evidence as to where she's been taken."

"And how do you know this?"

"She texted me last night. She was in trouble. She said that 'he' was coming for her."

"Moriarty?"

"Most likely. Somehow she got involved with him, made a deal or something."

"That's about as safe as putting your head inside a lion's mouth."

"She's overconfident. She thinks she's untouchable."

"Rather like Moriarty."

"He sees her as competition, most likely. He knows he's better, but the Phantom is getting a reputation. She's stealing his spotlight. He can't have that."

"How does this involve you though?"

"It's just another one of his little games, I'm sure. For Elizabeth, I'm afraid it's a trap."

The cab pulled in front of the apartment, and they got out, John paying the cabbie. They entered the building, going up to the fourth floor. The door to Elizabeth's apartment was ajar, hanging lopsided on stressed hinges. Sherlock and John stepped forward, entering the apartment. A few pillows lay strewn across the floor and a vase was knocked over onto the floor. Sherlock knelt down next to the coffee table. There were faint scratch marks in the surface of the wood. She had put up a fight.

"Right, I don't see anything here indicating where she's been taken." Sherlock wasn't listening. He knelt down on the floor, running his long fingers over the short grey carpeting. There were traces of gravel here from her captor's shoes. There was no way someone as clean as Elizabeth would let gravel collect on the carpet. His mind reeled, spreading out a map of London imaginary before his eyes. He lifted a finger to his mouth, tasting the mineral before turning to John. "I know where-"

Just then his phone buzzed. He checked it: _Receiving call from Elizabeth Reynolds_. He pressed 'answer.'

"Hello?"

"The game is almost up, Sherlock," came a familiar voice. "Time to come out and play. I've got your little girlfriend. She's waiting for you to rescue her. Why don't you join us?"

"We'll be there."

After he hung up the phone, he turned to John. "Come on, Moriarty has her." They flagged a taxi, heading west.

"Did he say what he wants?" John asked.

"Not entirely. He said he just wants to play."

"Well that never ends with much fun unless you include being strapped to a bomb."

They flagged a cabbie, Sherlock giving him instructions. He could see John's questioning expression. "It was the gravel dust on the carpeting that gave it away."

"Ah, of course." John turned to look out the window.

"Don't you want to know more?" Sherlock asked.

"You know, I think I'm good. I'm sure it was some particular gravel that's only used in certain types of buildings, and you just so happen to know which."

"Well, if you want to take the fun out of it…."

When they arrived at the abandoned warehouse, John asked the cabbie to wait. "It'll cost you extra."

They entered the warehouse, the wide metal door creaking with age as they opened it. The first room was completely empty. Sherlock's phone buzzed.

_Left_

He turned left, leading them down a white-washed hallway. His phone buzzed again.

_Right_

Right led them into an empty room.

_Straight ahead_

They entered another room, this one smaller. Elizabeth was seated in a wooden chair positioned in the centre of the room, her hands handcuffed behind her back. Moriarty stood in front of her, his face lit up in a smile as Sherlock and John entered the room.

"_Finally_. We were beginning to wonder if you were going to show up. Well, here you are. You brought your little pet too." Sherlock noticed John tense beside him, but he didn't remark. "You see I have a little problem I need your help with. Just a little one. You see, Ms. Reynolds has been getting a lot of attention lately. A little too much. I can't have that. I can't have my clients thinking that the Phantom can do a better job than me."

"You hired her."

"_Weeell_, _yes_, but that was only to find a way to you. I didn't really need her for anything. I just wanted to have a little fun. What's the phrase? 'It takes a thief to catch a thief.' She was just the bait. I knew you couldn't resist solving a crime that had your name all over it. Although the credit goes to her for picking the family names. I wanted to see if she could outsmart you. At least a little."

"But she didn't. The necklace she hid was a fake. I knew it was all too easy. A quick check of the diamonds under a microscope, and I could tell they were fakes. Very clever, but not clever enough."

"Oh, just look at us dance, Sherlock. Isn't it fun? In the end, you're the clever one. Oh, well. I don't have a use for her anymore." Sherlock watched Elizabeth's eyes widen. "So here's the deal. I'll give you two options. One, you tell the world that the Phantom got away, outsmarted you, and she gets to live. Or two, you tell the world that you caught the Phantom, recovered the jewels, get your name in the headlines, and I put a bullet through her head." He pulled a gun from the inside pocket of his suit, pressing the muzzle against the side of Elizabeth's head. "What will it be?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Oh, it's just a simple test to see just how alike you and I are. What will it be? The satisfaction of solving the case or the disappointment when everyone learns you failed?"

Sherlock's eyes flicked to Elizabeth. She looked back at him, her eyes emotionless. The necklace gleamed around her neck. One of her cheeks was red and slightly swollen from her resistance the night before. Did it really mean that much to him to have the world know he had solved another case that he would let this girl be shot? When he looked at her, he saw not just a thief. She was someone looking for an escape from life, looking for something further. She had strayed down the wrong path, but she didn't deserve to die for it. He recoiled at the thought of what remarks would come from Donovan or some of the other unintelligent people who would take full advantage of this apparent slipup. He didn't care what they thought of him, but he knew he would have to put up with pointless remarks made for the sole purpose of displaying distain.

Elizabeth's eyes were still set on him. He had to admit, however much he hated to, that she had fooled him for a moment. She was clever though she misused her intelligence. Who knows, perhaps a reformed jewel thief would make a valuable ally in the future. They certainly shared a nemesis.

"I'll tell the Owens that the thief got away. The Phantom's trail disappeared, and there is no way to recover the jewels. That's what you want, isn't it? For me to look a fool?"

He nodded slowly as if pondering Sherlock's decision. "I'll admit, that does add a little something special to my day. Make the call."

Sherlock pulled out his phone, dialing Owens's number. The man answered impatiently. "Well, what have you got? You took off last night without a backward glance!"

"I'm afraid the Phantom got away."

"What?"

"Disappeared into thin air. I can't find the trail."

"Are you telling me you failed to apprehend the thief and retrieve the stolen necklace?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Bloody lot of good you turned out to be! Don't expect a cheque!" He hung up the phone angrily.

Moriarty made a face. "That didn't sound so good. I have to say, I wasn't sure if you'd take the first choice. Things were beginning to look a little shaky for Ms. Reynolds." He took the gun away from her head, stowing it away in his pocket. He produced a set of keys and unlocked the handcuffs. As he straightened himself, Elizabeth suddenly threw herself at him. He caught her wrists before she could do any damage. She swore loudly. "Fiery little thing. You should train your pets better." He pushed her away from him, the force sending her falling backwards into Sherlock. He caught her by the elbows and straightened her, circling one of her wrists with his fingers to keep her from doing anything stupid again. She threw him a dirty look but held still. He could feel her pulse beating ferociously beneath her skin.

"Well, then, I guess that wraps up this business. It's been a pleasure. You might want to keep a tight rope on that one. Don't want her stealing any more jewels. Which reminds me." He stepped forward and tugged the necklace off of Elizabeth's neck, breaking the clasp with the force. She winced, but didn't say anything. Instead she raised a hand and struck him before he had a chance to move away. He started to laugh, touching his cheek in surprise rather than pain. Sherlock grabbed Elizabeth's other wrist. Though her head barely grazed his chin, she was trying to escape with a surprising amount of force.

"You-" she started, but Sherlock tightened his grip on her, and she shut her mouth.

"Come on, we're done here." He released her wrists but kept a grip on one arm, tugging her away from Moriarty. He was still laughing as they left the room. Elizabeth didn't speak again until they had left the building and stood outside in the sunlight.

"I suppose I should thank you," she said. "You could have just let me die."

"I have the satisfaction of knowing I solved the case. If other people don't, then that's their problem," he replied, a smile teasing the corner of his mouth.

Elizabeth let out a nervous laugh. "You can let go of me, you know. I'm not going back in there." Sherlock let go of her arm, and she rubbed the spot where he had been gripping her. "Maybe I am ordinary after all," she said after a pause.

"I'm not sure that a jewel thief would go down as 'ordinary,'" John said.

"But what was I after? Not the money perhaps but some sort of reputation. I wanted to prove myself. I shouldn't have had to go to such lengths. In the end, I'm just like everyone else, trying to be somebody. Now I'm nobody. Never mind. Look, thank you for saving my life. I'm sorry that you had to give up the case for it, but I'm glad you did."

Sherlock nodded. "We'll take you home." They clamoured into the taxi and left the factory behind.


	13. Entry Three

**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

**20th March**

**The Phantom**

And that was how Sherlock Holmes had his first 'failure' at solving a case. Of course he had figured out everything, but not being able to tell anyone about it, he was dismissed by a disgruntled Owens without any payment and forced to endure certain rude comments by certain people who will not be mentioned here. We said our goodbyes to Elizabeth. We'll see if the Phantom makes any more headlines or if she has truly given up the jewel theft business. Now that I come to the end of this case and the end of my story, I'm not sure I understand any of it any better. I don't believe the girl should have died, but I swear Sherlock respected her by the end of it all. He understood her and why she had become a jewel thief. He showed her a small bit of kindness that I still replay over in my head, just to make sure I wasn't making it up. Who knows, maybe he'll start thanking people or stop storing dismembered body parts in the fridge. We can only hope.

**15 comments**

Really, John, is this a story or a case file? Where's the analysis? All I'm reading is a complaint list about my methods.

**Sherlock Holmes** 20 March 16:02

Well, maybe if you actually explained yourself I'd have more analysis. "Don't you see?" is not an adequate explanation of anything, really.

**John Watson** 20 March 16:04

I went shopping earlier and got some milk and eggs. They're next to the hands.

**Sherlock Holmes** 20 March 16:05

:)

**John Watson** 20 March 16:06

You should retitle this "Sherlock Holmes's Failure." I'm going to be remembering this for a long time.

**Sally Donovan** 20 March 16:08

At least I have solved cases.

**Sherlock Homes** 20 March 16:09

Yes, alright, children, enough of that already.

**John Watson** 20 March 16:10

Oh, I don't know how he does it!

**Mrs. Hudson** 20 March 16:17

He's so brilliant!

**Molly Hooper** 20 March 16:20

yes very well done indeed.

**Anonymous** 20 March 16:23

How's that bruise?

**Sherlock Homes** 20 March 16:25

wouldn't you like to know.

**Anonymous** 20 March 16:26

I'm glad to know the Phantom won't be stealing anymore jewels. I'll feel safer in bed tonight.

**motnahp** 20 March 16:28

How do I get in touch with Mr. Holmes? I have a case I think he'd be interested in.

**Tessa Bennett** 20 March 16:58

You can get in touch with him on his website: The Science of Deduction.

**John Watson** 20 March 17:00


	14. Ramblings of a Retired Jewel Thief

**Ramblings of a Retired Jewel Thief**

24th March

**Confessions of the Phantom**

Yes, I'll admit it. I'm the Phantom. The notorious cat burglar. _Was_ would be a better word for it. Some of you probably don't believe me. Some of you probably hate me. Some of you probably wish you were me. It doesn't really matter. I'm retired. Finished. Done. I'm taking off the mask and giving up the jewels. A question I get asked a lot is: How did you get into thievery? It's a good question, and so I decided to open up an entry for questions and then transcribe them into this blog entry with answers. Here are a few of the questions I received:

Q: How did you get into the business of jewel thievery?

A: Well, it all started when I was twenty one. I was sitting in my flat, flipping through channels, when I came across this myth busters program on jewel thieves. It was an expose on notorious jewel thieves who had never been caught. I though to myself, I'm above average intelligent, very clever, and I'll do anything to keep myself amused. Why not? It was as simple as that. Once I got the idea, I decided to make my name in the London underground: the Phantom.

Q: Why do you call yourself the Phantom?

A: Well, I didn't actually come up with it. The papers started calling me that after my third theft. It just stuck. I've always been obsessed with the supernatural. The whole idea of an apparition that can melt through walls and go around unnoticed, wreaking havoc really appealed to me. It just fit.

Q: Are you a man or a woman?

A: What do you think? :)

Q: How many jewels did you steal altogether?

A: That's a tough one. I'd say close to twenty or thirty. I lost count.

Q: What did you do with the jewels after you stole them?

A: Sold them to the highest bidder and bought myself a nice car.

Q: Did you ever almost get caught?

A: No. People didn't expect me to be the Phantom, so they didn't see me. I'm very careful and very good at blending in.

Q: What about Sherlock Homes? Did you ever come across him?

A: Oh, yes. We did have the pleasure of meeting once. You can say that he's part of what inspired me to give up jewelry theft. He's quite handsome in person.

Q: Are you tempted to begin stealing again?

A: No. I'm happy with where I am now. I'm going to try my hand at a normal life for awhile.

Q: Rumour has it that you stole the famous Sadik Sapphire. Is that true?

A: Very good. Yes. That was my best theft.

Q: How did you manage to steal all those jewels without getting caught?

A: Ah, now, I can't be giving away all the secrets of my trade.

Q: The papers are saying that you outwitted Sherlock Holmes in your last theft. Is that true?

A: Even the great Phantom cat burglar can't outsmart Sherlock Holmes.

**27 comments**

I still think you're a fake.

**mysteryman27** 24 March 10:30

You didn't answer my question.

**G. Landspeak** 24 March 10:46

523.555.8372

**handsome33** 24 March 10:53

I just came across this blog. Is this really a good idea spilling your secrets to the world?

**John Watson** 24 March 11:06

Oh, relax, John, it's not like anyone can actually do anything to me.

**Phantom** 24 March 11:07

i can.

**Anonymous** 24 March 11:08

Wow, I can't believe you're really the Phantom!

**Mollie Perry** 24 March 11:17

Thanks for answering my question!

**Leanna Wright** 24 March 11:59

let's play a game of cat and mouse.

**Anonymous** 24 March 12:22

Who are you anyway?

**Mollie Perry** 24 March 12:24

i am the greatest criminal mind in london.

**Anonymous** 24 March 12:25

Right, well I still think the Phantom is the greatest criminal mind in London.

**Mollie Perry** 24 March 12:27

we'll see about that.

**Anonymous** 24 March 12:28 **…Read more**

**Ramblings of a Retired Jewel Thief**

22nd March

**Q & A:**

I've decided to open up a Q&A for anyone curious about learning more about the Phantom jewel thief. I'll pick the best and answer them in my next post.

**34 comments**

How did you get into the business of jewel thievery?

**Krispen Smith** 22 March 9:03

Are you really the Phantom?

**Mollie Perry** 22 March 9:04

Are you a man or a woman?

**Teddie R.** 22 March 9:05

You're a fake.

**mysteryman27** 22 March 9:06

How did you manage to steal all those jewels without getting caught?

**Jim G.** 22 March 9:10

What did you do with the jewels after you stole them?

**Reggie Landson** 22 March 9:17

Are you good looking? Single?

**handsome33** 22 March 9:22

How many jewels did you steal altogether?

**Leanna Wright** 22 March 9:34

Are you tempted to begin stealing again?

**Christian Shipton** 22 March 10:17

Why do you call yourself the Phantom?

**anonymous1982** 22 March 10:30

Rumour has it that you stole the famous Sadik Sapphire. Is that true?

**Phantomfan27** 22 March 10:34

Did you ever almost get caught?

**Harriet Sanders** 22 March 10:46

What about Sherlock Homes? Did you ever come across him?

**theimprobableone** 22 March 10:53

The papers are saying that you outwitted Sherlock Holmes in your last theft. Is that true?

**Fannie Cooper** 22 March 11:02

What's your favourite colour?

**G. Landspeak** 22 March 11:06 … **Read more**

**Ramblings of a Retired Jewel Thief**

21st March

**Blog**

I've decided to keep a blog.

**0 comments**


	15. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:00 am

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 10:00 am**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

Elizabeth Reynolds pushed her long, golden tresses off of her shoulder and tapped the pencil she was holding against her lip. She was finding retirement very dull. It was like taking a rattle away from a toddler or the water away from a fish. She needed_ something_ to do. Something exciting. She had watched two hours straight of Connie Prince reruns even though she despised the show. She'd rather die than admit that it was growing on her. She'd even gone to the local beauty supply store to buy a new shade of lip gloss. Yes, life of retirement was great. She could spend the rest of her day shopping for expensive things online that she wouldn't actually buy because in all actuality, she hadn't sold any of the jewelry she had stolen. They had all gone to her employer who had then sold them to God knows who. Of course she'd gotten something in return, a nice car, a luxury apartment. She smiled to herself as she wrote something down on her notepad. Her employer had been very proud of her efforts of late. He'd even sent her a little something. She smiled wider, toying with the sapphire necklace that gleamed around her neck. It brought out her blue eyes very nicely, she thought. She knew he wasn't usually one to give such generous gifts, but she was 'quite the little actress' according to him. Well, it was part of her job, her _real_ job. Elizabeth set down her pencil and paper and picked up her cell phone. She scrolled through her contacts before hitting the 'send message' button and typing in a quick message.

_Awaiting instructions._

_E._

She only had to wait a few second before a reply flashed on her screen. She pressed her finger to the touchpad and the message popped up.

_Time for phase two._

_Be prepared for a little action,_

_and brush up on your acting skills._

_Time to trick Sherlock._

Elizabeth pursed her lips in excitement. It was time to come out of retirement. Well, not in the sense anyone else would think it meant but to her, it meant jumping into action once more. That was, after all, what she thrived on. She reached for her coat, grabbing her car keys and heading out the door.


	16. 221B Baker Street, 10:30 am

**221B Baker Street, 10:30 am**

**John Watson**

John Watson had just put down his cup of coffee when he nearly tipped it over again. He grabbed the paper that had been sitting in a messy pile on the coffee table and scanned the headline that had caught his attention.

_**Phantom Cat Burglar Strikes Again**_

_In yet another baffling robbery modeled after the infamous cat burglar called the Phantom, a ruby necklace worth €500,000 was stolen last night from the Hanburg estate in East Sussex. The police are investigating, but so far no evidence has come forward. Is this the same Phantom burglar that has left terror in the hearts of the wealthy Londoners or is this a new burglar who has used the Phantom as a role model?_

_If you have any information concerning this robbery or the Phantom, please call our direct line at 555.523.5444. _

"Sherlock, you'd better see this."

"Oh, don't tell me you've found another sport's score you want to regale me with. I really can't take another-"

"No, it's got nothing to do with sports. Come and see this."

Sherlock cast him a disdainful look before setting aside the two test tubes he had been studying – both were now exuding a mysterious white mist – and strode over to take the paper from John.

"That's not dangerous, is it?" John asked, eyeing the steaming test tubes.

"Not unless you've got any hidden jewels." Sherlock's eyes twinkled.

"No, I meant the smoke."

"Oh." Sherlock waved a lazy hand toward the test tubes. "Just a little experiment with amino acids."

"Right. As longs as they don't explode. So what do you think?" John asked.

"About the acids or the article? This conversation is getting rather dizzying."

"What do you think about the article?" John clarified. "Do you think Elizabeth is back to stealing jewels or is this someone new?"

Sherlock continued to study the paper. "It's not her style."

"What do you mean? It says whoever it was did everything exactly like the Phantom."

"Except Elizabeth, the Phantom we know, always has a pattern to her thefts. This is just random. There's nothing significant about it." He waved his hand impatiently.

"Well what was her pattern before she was signaling you?" John asked, not quite following.

"She only stole from families associated with her Cambridge friends. She had to somehow get invited to their parties without casting suspicion on herself. Naturally she chose her victims from those she knew. She doesn't know anyone in East Sussex."

"How do you know that?"

"She's been in London for two years, John, she knows people _here_. Her network of friends is very limited. I very much doubt that it expands any further than school. Also she's put very few miles on her car since she bought it new a year ago. It's a 2011 make, and it's obvious that she drives it infrequently and only short distances. East Sussex is an hour and a half at best. Three hours there and back."

"Right. So someone is mimicking her style then. Have you talked to her recently?"

"You mean since our little run in with Moriarty a week ago? No. Why would I?" He set down the paper, casting John a suspicious look.

"Oh, I don't know. I was just wondering. I mean, the first woman you show any interest in is Irene Adler, I was just thinking…."

"That criminals are my type?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"No, no, just that you like…different women." He was struggling, and he knew it. "Never mind. Forget it."

Sherlock gave him a look and then went back to his test tubes which were now spouting off a sickly green smoke. John sighed. If only one morning could be relaxing at 221B Baker Street. Just one.


	17. 442 Holland Park Avenue, 11:45

**442 Holland Park Avenue, 11:45**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

Elizabeth pulled out her keys to her apartment, fumbling slightly since both arms were weighed down by shopping bags. She finally managed to shove the key into the lock and turn the tumbler until she heard a satisfying click. She pushed into the apartment, kicking the door shut with her foot and dropping her bags on the floor. Then she saw something that terrified her. Gone. Everything was gone. The furniture, the decorations, the pictures, the books, the kitchen supplies. Everything. She walked slowly around, checking closets and her bedroom. Even her toothbrush was missing. The only thing she could see was a note taped to the refrigerator. She walked slowly toward it, her heart fluttering mercilessly inside of her. She could read the bold writing from across the kitchen.

**Run little kitty, this mouse is hungry.**

**How does it feel to have your life stolen?**

**Next your friends. **

**You will be alone. **

Elizabeth felt her legs give out underneath her, and she slid to the floor. She was startled when her phone buzzed angrily from her pocket, alerting her to an incoming call. It was her friend Christie. She answered it dejectedly.

"Elizabeth? What the HELL?" her friend nearly screamed into the phone. "I trusted you and invited you into my home and _you're_ the jewelry thief?"

"What?" Elizabeth said faintly. She could no longer feel the hand that held the phone. "What did you say?"

"You heard me! I can't believe I ever trusted you. Don't bother ever calling again!" She hung up.

Elizabeth let the phone fall to the floor. This couldn't be happening. She looked down as her phone buzzed again, this time showing five missed calls. She fearfully brought the phone back to her ear to hear the messages. They were all the same. All accusatory, hurt friends who thought, no _knew_, she was the Phantom thief. Somehow. Obviously this was linked to her missing belongings. It had to be. First her home, then her friends. Her life was being stolen. There was only one thing left to do. Elizabeth grabbed her shopping bags and ran down the stairs and to her car. She threw everything in her trunk – it was, after all, everything she owned now – and dropped into the driver's seat. She revved the engine and pulled away from the curb heading to the only place she knew she would be safe.


	18. 221B Baker Street, 1:35 pm

**221B Baker Street, 1:35 pm**

**Sherlock Holmes **

The first thing Sherlock noticed as the taxicab pulled up alongside the curb outside of 221B Baker Street was the silver Audi parked across the street. His eyes flashed to the apartment. Everything looked normal from the outside. John was telling him something about the weather report, so he got out of the cab, leaving John to pay the cabbie. He strode toward the door noticing that entry had not been forced.

"Do you ever listen?" John said, coming up behind him.

"Only if it has some relevance to a case," he replied, opening the front door.

"Might as well be talking to a telephone pole," John muttered behind him.

A faint perfume lingered in the air of the hallway. Sweet but not overpowering. He had smelled it before. Mrs. Hudson came bustling into the hallway just then, interrupting his observations. "There's a young lady to see you, Sherlock. She didn't want to give her name. Scared stiff, she was. Pretty thing though."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

"Who could it be?" John asked as they climbed the stairs to their flat.

"Who else?" Sherlock replied, pushing the door open.

Seated next to the unlit fireplace was Elizabeth Reynolds, looking elegant as usual with her long, brown hair loose around her neck. She looked pale and scared, however, and this was not something that suited her. She looked up as they walked in, her bright blue eyes flickering for a moment on their faces and then to the empty stairway beyond.

"I didn't know where else to come," she said, her tone slightly apologetic. "I'm in trouble." Sherlock sat down across from her, and she looked pleadingly at him.

"Have you been stealing jewels again?" John asked, shutting the flat door and turning to face Elizabeth.

"No, that wasn't me, you've got to believe me," she said at once, her eyes wide. "Someone is copying me. But he came for me – Moriarty. He took everything I own. My apartment is empty. He also somehow convinced everyone I know that I'm the Phantom. I know it's true, but now all my friends hate me. I don't know what to do."

"Playing games with James Moriarty is a dangerous pastime," Sherlock told her.

"I know that. I never meant for it to go this far. You have to believe me." Elizabeth's eyes flickered back to him.

"You can stay here for the time being," Sherlock told her after a moment.

"Do you know anything about the jewel thefts that are happening right now?" John asked her.

"No, nothing," Elizabeth replied quickly. Either she was telling the truth or she was a very good actress. Her expression was genuine. Shocked and frightened. "Really. It's not me."

"Alright, so what then? Why is Moriarty still coming after you?" John asked.

"I don't know. Maybe he believes it is me."

"No, he's smarter than that. He'll know exactly who it is. He probably hired him just to get back at you." Sherlock drummed his fingers on the back of the couch, deep in thought. There was more to this game than first met the eye. He had thought it was over, but obviously Jim Moriarty was still playing. Why this girl though? Why was she in the middle of everything?

Elizabeth looked shocked for a moment and then recovered. "You think he'd hire someone to mimic me? Why?"

"Revenge. He is definitely one to hold a grudge or rather destroy anyone who crosses him. You crossed him before but you didn't have to pay then."

"So I'm paying now, is that what you're saying?" Elizabeth paled slightly at these words.

"Yes, it would seem so." Silence met his words. He looked around the room, but things were beginning to look dull again. "I'm going to go look into the body Lestrade called me about," he told them.

"But he didn't call you-" John started but just then Sherlock's phone buzzed from inside his jacket pocket.

"Hello?" he answered, noting that it was Lestrade.

"Sherlock, we've got a dead body. Found it near a pawnshop in East Street Market. Male, 50, known jewelry smuggler. We've been looking for him for ages. There's something off about his death though. He's pale and has a look of horror on his face as if he'd just seen a ghost or something. Found him in an alleyway hidden behind a dumpster. No jewelry on him, but we found a bag probably used to transport stolen jewelry."

"I'll be there." He hung up and turned to look at John who had that look on his face again.

"How did you-? Never mind."

Sherlock frowned. Usually John wanted to know just how he deduced things, but it almost seemed as if he was getting annoyed about it. Nonetheless, he decided to jump in and explain how he had known. "I heard sirens and saw police headed toward the south. I knew a phone call couldn't be far behind."

"Right…." John didn't sound convinced.

"And I was beginning to get bored, so I had hoped-"

"Hoped that someone would get murdered?" John asked, frowning and creasing his brow.

"Well, when you put it like that…." Sherlock buttoned up his coat again. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes, unless…." John turned to Elizabeth. "Are you alright here on your own for awhile?"

She smiled. "Yes. I won't burn the place down, you know."

"Right, then, yes, I'll come."

Sherlock headed out the door, John at his heels. When they reached the street, he hailed a cab and climbed in.

"Do you trust her?" John asked him. Sherlock could tell by his tone that he didn't.

"Is it ever wise to trust a jewel thief?" he countered.

"No."

"I think there's more to this game, and she's the answer."

"So you're going to use her?"

"Observe her. I told you she'd lead us to Moriarty before, and she did."

"I'm not eager to meet up with him again."

"No? Well, he's at the very center of the web, as I've said before. He gets everyone else to do his dirty work. I don't think we'll be meeting up with him again anytime soon."

"Do you think Elizabeth is still working for him?" John asked.

"I don't know. She seemed genuinely frightened about her apartment. But she could be a very good actress. You'd have to be to worm your way into the homes of the rich the way she did."

"How did Moriarty expose her?"

"Probably called the families she stole from, pretended to be someone else. Told them where to find their jewels. Once an idea is planted, people don't usually question it. Not when their money is involved. They're so predictable."

"You're not including yourself in that?"

"I'm not most people."

"Right. So what is it we're investigating now?" John asked.

"Body found in East Street Market. He's a known jewel smuggler. They didn't find any jewels on him, just an empty bag."

"Do you think there's a connection? Between him and Elizabeth?" John asked.

"Perhaps. It's too much of a coincidence to not be connected."

The cab pulled onto East Street where the body had been found and stopped. Sherlock paid the cabbie as he got out and turned to John.

"Right, let's go."


	19. East Street Market, 2:15 pm

**East Street Market 2:15 pm**

**John Watson**

The body was surrounded by police officers from Scotland Yard and the alley had been roped off. Sherlock pulled up the police tape, nodding for John to go ahead before slipping under himself. Donovan was there, John noted, watching Sherlock's relaxed face tense with annoyance. She didn't look too pleased to see him either.

"Freak," she greeted him with her favorite name for him.

"Donovan," Sherlock replied curtly.

They found Lestrade kneeling next to the body. "Ah, Sherlock, John. Matthew Banks, known jewel smuggler. The body was found at 1:15 pm today. A local pawnbroker was taking out the rubbish when he noticed the feet from around the rubbish bin. The body's obviously been out here longer than that."

"May I?" John asked. Lestrade motioned for him to continue, and John knelt down to examine the body. He had seen many corpses in his lifetime, but this one was a bit unsettling. The man's face was deathly pale, his mouth wide open in what seemed to be a silent scream of horror. "I'd say he's been dead around ten hours. The blood is starting to congeal, but discoloration hasn't occurred yet. The lips are blue. Death from suffocation?" John looked up at Lestrade.

"That's what we thought, but there doesn't seem to have been a struggle." He motioned around the alley which seemed undisturbed.

Sherlock had moved in and was circling the body with his tiny magnifying glass. "Any theories?" John asked him.

"Six." He continued to examine the body, ignoring John and Lestrade.

"Right. Mind filling us in on any?" _And showing off…._ He didn't add in his thoughts.

"He was given a drug that induced paranoia and possible hallucinations. There are no marks on the body indicating that he was physically attacked. But he obviously saw something that frightened him. Someone wanted him to die in fear. He was clearly suffocated, but not by someone. He ran out of breath, literally. Or perhaps he really was scared to death. His body could have shut down in reaction to extreme fear. Someone wanted revenge on him. This isn't just a random killing. This was meticulous and cruel." He looked around the alley. "You won't find any evidence here. The murderer kept well away from the actual murder. He'll have been given some sort of drug that was administered and then took effect over time."

"Is there anything in the bag?" John asked. Lestrade held it up in a gloved hand.

"Empty. Nothing missing from the body – his wallet was still there. But no jewels."

"Wait, what's that?" John leaned closer to the body, examining the gaping mouth. "Do you have some extra gloves?" Lestrade pulled an extra pair out of his pocket and handed them to John. Tugging on the latex gloves, John bent forward and, fighting back a cringe, pulled an object out of the victim's mouth. It had been pushed way back so as to be hardly noticeable. Sherlock, of course, had probably noticed it already, but he let John take the credit. It was a sizable ruby. It glinted as John held it up to the light.

"Is it real?" Lestrade asked.

"I don't think so. But it's a good copy."

"What was it doing in his mouth?" Lestrade asked, frowning.

"It's a sign, don't you see?" Sherlock put in.

"A sign?" John could tell Sherlock was trying hard not to roll his eyes.

"Yes, a sign. Warning anyone who tries to take Moriarty's job that they'll end up this way. He wants to be the best of the best. Other criminals just get in his way. Unless they're doing his dirty work."

"Do you think it's a warning for Elizabeth?" John asked. What was it about this girl? She seemed to attract trouble like a web attracted flies. _And Moriarty is the spider in the middle._

"That's possible. He's trying to frighten her."

"I'd say."

"But why go to all this trouble?" Sherlock frowned for a moment. John could practically see his brain whirling around with thought, processing a hundred different theories all at once. "Unless…." He looked up, gazing around as if half expecting Moriarty to be standing there laughing. Before he could continue, Lestrade came up, looking a bit out of breath.

"We've got another one," he said. "Found on Regent Street near a jewelry store. Another known jewel thief. Come on, I'll give you a lift in the car." He headed toward one of the police cruisers, Sherlock and John right behind.


	20. Regent Street, 2:35 pm

**Regent Street 2:35 pm**

**John Watson**

The next body was just like the first – same frightened look, same blue lips. John knelt down to check the body. "Dead about ten hours, I'd guess. Same as the last." He put on a pair of gloves and reached into the victim's mouth, hoping this wasn't about to become a habit. A large blue stone came out. "Fake sapphire?"

"Looks like it. What on earth is going on?" Lestrade asked.

"Sir?" Donovan walked up. "We've got another. Burlington Gardens. This one's the same."

"Is there some sort of pattern to this? Besides the fact that they're all jewel thieves or smugglers and they're found near jewelry stores with fake jewels in their mouths?" John asked.

"He's distracting us," Sherlock answered. "He's keeping us from the real crime."

"And what's that?"

"The murder of Elizabeth Reynolds. Come on, we need to get back to Baker Street." He turned toward the street, hailing a cabbie.

"Where are you going?" Lestrade asked.

"How do you know that?" John asked at the same time.

"We've got something else to take care of. I'll come into Bart's later to examine the bodies."

"Sherlock, hang on, how do you know Elizabeth is going to be murdered?" John scrambled into a cab after Sherlock.

"These are just pointless murders. They're leading us in circles, distracting us from his real target."

"Pointless murders?" John asked.

"Yes, John, think. We're not going to find anyone to pin to the murders. He's too careful for that. All this time, he was after Elizabeth."

"But why? He had the chance to kill her, and he didn't."

"That was before he realized what was missing."

"Missing?" He was doing that thing again where he only hinted at what he had figured out. John, as usual, had no idea what he was talking about.

"What does she do best?"

"Steal jewels?"

"Exactly. She wanted to pull off her last job before she retired with a fat pension. Moriarty would have paid her off for working for him before, but she wanted more. She wanted to best him. Besting me was of no consequence and she didn't best me anyway, but besting the greatest criminal mastermind in London…. When she got home to America, every criminal would be coming to her to pull off a job."

"She was advertising herself?"

"Yes, she wanted to become the greatest criminal mind in America."

"But by besting Moriarty? How? He's not going to like that."

"There was a specific jewel that she stole for Moriarty. Do you remember what it was?"

"I remember reading something about a sapphire on her blog. Hang on, do you read her blog too?"

"I glanced at it. Not just any sapphire, John, the famous Saddik Sapphire. She stole it for Moriarty, but I think she planned on stealing it back. Or perhaps she already did. You saw how she tried to trick us with planting the fake jewels. Anyway, he's realized she has it now."

"But she knows how dangerous he is."

"She thinks she's clever enough to best him. That's a mistake."

The cab turned on to Baker Street, and Sherlock was out of the cab before it even stopped. John hastily paid the driver and followed Sherlock. The door to 221 was slightly ajar. Sherlock pushed against it cautiously before stepping into the hall. Mrs. Hudson was in the front hall, dusting the staircase banister.

"Mrs. Hudson, you haven't seen anyone come in, have you?" John asked.

"No one came in, but that woman, she left."

"Elizabeth? When?"

"Oh, about ten minutes after you left. She said she needed to get home. She looked a little frightened, if you ask me."

"Do you know where she went?" John asked.

"Heathrow," Sherlock answered for him.

"What?"

"She's going home. Back to America. She has what she came for. She probably plans on fencing the sapphire back there."

"Does she really think Moriarty can't reach her there?"

"I think she plans on surrounding herself with powerful people. He'd have to reach his arm pretty far to get to her."

"So what do we do now?"

"Wait." Sherlock headed up the stairs. John watched him go.

"What's all this about?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"Jewels," John answered before following Sherlock up the stairs. "So you're just going to let her get away?"

"This is between her and Moriarty."

"So you're just going to let her die?"

Sherlock shifted his blue eyes to John. "What do you want, John? For her to be saved or go to jail?"

"I suppose both. I don't want to see her end up dead in an alley somewhere."

"No, me neither. She might not deserve to walk free, but she doesn't deserve to die. Moriarty won't see it that way though."

"So why aren't we going after her?"

"We're already too late."


	21. Heathrow Airport, 3:00 pm

**Heathrow Airport 3:00 pm**

**Elizabeth Reynolds**

It had all gone too smoothly. Elizabeth smiled to herself as she checked in her baggage. Jim would have realized by now that she had replaced the real sapphire with a fake one. The real one was somewhere safe. She was almost free. Almost. Her employer would be very pleased with her little act. But then the world seemed to fall away when she felt a prick in her neck. Her fingers reached for what had pricked her and a needle fell away. A dart. She felt the world go fuzzy around her, her vision swaying. No. This couldn't happen. She was so close.

"No one bests me," a voice brushed against her ear.

"But I already have," she whispered, struggling to speak. Then her vision went black. Her lips formed a smile as she fell to the floor. A woman screamed and people swarmed around her.

"Call 999," someone called out. He reached out to take her pulse and felt it beat too rapidly for a moment before slowing and finally stopping.


	22. 221B Baker Street 3:45 pm

**221B Baker Street 3:45 pm**

**Sherlock Holmes**

The phone screen lit up, telling Sherlock that he had a call from Lestrade. He knew what it was.

"She's dead," he stated into the phone as he answered it.

"How did you know?" Lestrade's confused voice came from the other end. "I haven't even told you-"

"Elizabeth Reynolds. The notorious Phantom jewel thief. She's dead."

"Yes. I don't know how you knew. I'm not even going to ask."

"Where?"

"Heathrow Airport. No signs of injury. People are saying she just fainted and died. We brought her back to St. Bart's."

"We'll be there." As he hung up, Sherlock felt something foreign. He frowned, pondering the empty, raw space that had opened up somewhere within him. He had to admire anyone who took on Moriarty so fearlessly, even if it was a death sentence.

"We're going to St. Bart's," he said to John, grabbing his coat and pulling his scarf around his neck.

John followed him silently though Sherlock could see that he wanted to say something. "Don't," Sherlock told him.

"Don't what?"

"Ask me how I'm feeling about this."

"Why not? Because you are feeling something?" John asked, hitting painfully on the truth.

Sherlock chose not to answer, hailing a cabbie outside the apartment. They rode in silence to St. Bart's. When they reached the hospital, they headed up to where Molly would be looking over the body. They found Molly in the hallway, looking around as if she had lost something.

"Is something wrong, Molly?" John asked.

"She's gone," Molly said, looking frantic.

"I'm sorry," John's face contorted in confusion. Sherlock kept his face passive although inside he felt a sudden jolt.

"The body is gone. Elizabeth is gone," Molly repeated.

"As in someone stole the body?"

"As in she got up and walked out. No one else came up here. I'm sure of it."

"But she's dead," John stated.

"Obviously not," Sherlock spoke up. "She was poisoned. The poison would have taken away any signs of a pulse. But she recovered. This was all planned. Very, very clever."

"So what? She's alive? Is she still working for Moriarty?" John asked.

"Yes, she's always been working for him. It was all one big elaborate play to prove how clever she is. Was the sapphire found?"

"Sapphire?" John asked.

"The sapphire she stole from Moriarty."

"Nothing was found on her," Molly said.

"We need to go back to Baker Street." Sherlock was already halfway down the hallway before John started to follow. Molly was left standing in the hall staring after them.

The cab carried them back home where Sherlock went straight to the mantle where a note was sitting. "That wasn't there before," John said. Sherlock ignored him opening up the note and reading.

_Sherlock,_

_Well, by now, if you are reading this letter, you've figured out that I'm not dead and that I've stolen the sapphire. It was a pleasure working with you – or perhaps I should say against you. I'm fleeing the country as you read this letter – or am dead. Moriarty won't be pleased that I've gotten away with his jewel since he had it stolen for a client of his. The sapphire is somewhere safe where he'll never think to look. Hidden in plain sight perhaps. I'll tell you this – I do not carry it yet it will be in Elizabeth Reynolds's possession. _

_~Elizabeth aka The Phantom_

Sherlock passed the letter over to John who read it quickly, frowning. "What does she mean by that?" he asked. "_I do not carry it yet it will be in Elizabeth Reynold's possession_?"

"It means that our friend the Phantom isn't who she said she was."

"She's not really Elizabeth Reynolds?"

"No. It's a false identity. But there is an Elizabeth Reynolds somewhere."

"Then this is probably the last we'll hear from the Phantom," John said. "Are you upset that you didn't catch her?" he asked.

Sherlock looked at his friend. "I never played her game," he said before turning and picking up his violin. He brought the bow to the strings and began to play.


	23. Entry Four

**The Personal Blog of Dr. John H. Watson**

28th March

**The Phantom**

And so ended our dealings with the Phantom. It all went over my head, but Sherlock seemed less than surprised over it all. Even the part where the corpse went walking out of the morgue on it's own. Somehow I get the feeling that the case isn't completely ended – if the Phantom wasn't Elizabeth Reynolds then who is? And what ever happened to the Sadik Sapphire? I guess we'll see what happens. For now we'll have to content ourselves with petty thefts and missing persons. I have a feeling the wall is going to take a beating over the next few days if another case doesn't present itself.

**5 comments**

I wonder who the Phantom really is?

**Mrs. Hudson** 28 March 11:02

We might never know. Quite frankly, I'm glad that we're done dealing with her. Jewel thieves aren't exactly safe company.

**John Watson** 28 March 11:30

A cat has nine lives.

**anonymous** 28 March 12:07

Hello, I wonder if you might be able to help me. I read about the theft of the Sadik Sapphire online and I think I have a lead on it. I came across this blog and couldn't believe what I read. I wonder if I might be able to speak with Mr. Holmes in person. I'm flying to London on the next flight. This might sound unbelievable, but my name is Elizabeth Reynolds and two days ago I received a package in the mail. I won't say any more here, but I think I might have an idea who the Phantom is.

**Lizbee21** 30 March 1:15

We'd like to meet with you. Come to 221B Baker Street when your flight gets in.

**John Watson **30 March 3:30


End file.
